chapter twenty-five
Allied Strike Force
Transverse, non-congruent
The squadron’s six TTVs and two chronoports pursued the Phoenix through the transverse, holding formation several chens behind the immense vessel. The phase difference prevented any exchange of weapons fire, which suited Raibert just fine until they could formulate a plan.
“Phoenix is heading straight for the Admin,” Benjamin reported. “Speed is steady at thirty-six kilofactors, but it’s also adjusting its spatial position. Acceleration is one gravity. If it holds to this course, performing a turnover halfway, phase-in will occur above the Admin’s Earth.”
“Makes sense,” Raibert said. “One gee is too slow for anything fancy. They just want to phase-in on the right spot. Time to Admin’s outer wall?”
“Eleven hours, fifty-four minutes.”
“Plenty of time for us to do something about it.”
“The question is what, though,” Benjamin said. “Everything we’ve seen supports the theory that Phoenix is a Directive-class cruiser modified with the biggest impeller I’ve ever seen short of the Dynasty’s Tesseract. On top of that, it probably outmasses our entire squadron by a factor of fifty, and if even a fraction of that mass is dedicated to weapons and armor, I don’t need to explain to you how long we’d last in a straight-up fight.”
“We need to assume the worst,” Elifritz said, joined in via a direct laser link from Hammerhead-Seven. “The Institute’s had forty subjective years to build and outfit this thing. If their Revenants are the payload, then Phoenix is the delivery mechanism, and I see no reason to doubt it’s well-equipped for that role.”
“Agreed.” Raibert leaned forward over the command table. “But like Doc said, what do we do about it?”
“We also need to warn the Admin of what’s coming,” Isaac said. “Would it make sense to split off a vessel to act as a courier? If I understand the speeds at play here, a TTV would arrive in the Admin almost six hours ahead of Phoenix, and a chronoport in even less time.”
“Which’ll give the DTI much needed time to prepare,” Elifritz added.
“Then we make sure they get it.” Raibert pulled up the squadron status. “Alcyone is in the worst fighting shape out of all our ships. Main weapons are out of commission and armor is stretched thin, but the impeller’s intact. Looks like we have ourselves a courier. Kleio, transmit the following orders to Alcyone—”
“Hold that thought,” Elifritz cut in. “Pardon the interruption, but before you send Alcyone ahead, we should ensure we’re passing on the best intel possible.” He hesitated for a moment, and when he continued, it was with a softer, darker tone. “And that, unfortunately, means we should probe Phoenix first. To learn what we’re really up against.”
“Are you suggesting we phase-lock with that beast and let it shoot at us?” Raibert asked pointedly.
“No. I’m suggesting you let our chronoports phase-lock with it.”
“That’s suicide!”
“Not necessarily. Our impellers are faster, and we still have sixteen nukes between us. We’re the only credible threat this squadron has to offer.”
“You’ll last seconds!”
“An exaggeration.”
“Not by much!”
“I freely admit the risks are . . . self-evident.” Elifritz coughed out a sad laugh. “However, we’ll utilize our speed advantage to execute a series of hit-and-phase attacks, delivering the nukes while keeping our exposure to a minimum. We’ll aim for the impeller as well. Take that out, and the rest of the ship becomes dead weight.”
“But . . . ”
“Naturally, I wouldn’t dream of leaving formation without your orders. However, I believe this is our best course of action. Otherwise, I wouldn’t suggest it.”
Raibert lowered his head with a grimace. He knew Elifritz was right. He knew this should be a simple call, made with the same cold, dispassionate math that had led him to push Elifritz to launch that last nuke.
But this feels different, Raibert admitted to himself. If I make the wrong call here . . .
“Think about it, Raibert,” Benjamin said. “One lucky hit to their impeller and this could be all over. Sounds worth it to me.”
“Your orders, Agent?” Elifritz prompted.
Raibert knew what he had to do, knew the correct order to give.
And so, after one last moment of reluctance, he put on a brave face and gave it.
“Captain, my orders are for you and Hammerhead-Eight to break formation and engage the enemy.”
* * *
“Weapons,” Elifritz said, “I want that missile launched the moment we phase-lock. Navigation, break phase-lock as soon as the missile clears our field.”
His officers acknowledged their orders, and he tightened the straps at his shoulders.
He found his mind drifting back to his wife, comforted by the knowledge Michelle was safe with her family on Mars, safe from the calamity rushing toward Earth. She would survive, and that fact helped bring clarity and focus to his mind.
Their odd-couple marriage had experienced its share of bumps—both within their home and outside its walls. His conservative views as a serving Peacekeeper often clashed with her freedom-loving Martian sensibilities, and his career had taken (if he was being honest with himself) an expected hit.
In a perfect universe, his marriage to Michelle wouldn’t have affected his career. But the Admin was far from perfect, and he could sense the doors closing around him, the opportunities being denied. Always with an excuse, always with an explanation to justify the poor assignments and delayed promotions.
But while some doors creaked shut, others opened.
Director Csaba Shigeki didn’t care where a candidate was born or whom he’d married. He wanted talented, motivated people with open minds and new ideas. He concerned himself with the question “Is this person a good fit for the DTI?” first and foremost, and in Elifritz’s case, the answer had been a resounding yes.
In a small way, he thought he understood the Institute and its motives. Yes, there were faults to be found throughout the Admin. He’d seen plenty of it himself. Rules bent, powers abused, voices stifled in the name of order. But he refused the Institute’s darkest conclusions.
The Admin was not broken beyond repair. It was in the midst of a painful, painful transition, but it would survive this trial as it had many others before it, and it would emerge stronger and better than ever. He truly believed that.
And that future was worth defending.
Worth dying for, if necessary.
“Hammerhead-Eight confirms readiness, sir,” reported the telegraph operator. “They’re ready to move out on your command.”
“Execute.”
“Yes, sir. Retracting baffles and accelerating.”
Elifritz studied the tactical display as his two ships closed with the Institute vessel. Under normal conditions, the chronoport’s dish would only be able to provide a precise fix for a contact’s temporal position; spatial coordinates would then be represented as a range of possibilities illustrated as a sphere or ellipse. But Phoenix was so large—and its chronometric field so powerful—that its spatial position could be predicted with over ninety percent certainty.
That’s perhaps the most important advantage we have, Elifritz thought. Phoenix will have to bring its weapons to bear on us, since it won’t know where we’ll appear, whereas we’ll be able to attack the moment we phase-lock.
“Phase-lock imminent, sir.”
Elifritz gripped the ends of his armrests, his jaw almost painfully tight.
“Phase-locked!”
The mammoth, spherical hulk materialized three kilometers directly ahead.
“Missile-Five away!”
The nuclear missile screamed out of its launcher and sprinted toward the Institute warship.
“Movement detected on the target’s surface. Weapon systems realigning.”
“Missile clear!”
“Breaking phase-lock now!”
Phoenix vanished, and Hammerhead-Seven settled into a pursuit course, holding the distance open to avoid any return fire. Hammerhead-Eight appeared beside them moments later.
“Speed steady at thirty-six kilofactors. Distance holding at ten chens.”
“Telegraph from Hammerhead-Eight, sir. They report a successful launch.”
“According to the clock, both missiles should have detonated by now, sir.”
“Excellent work,” Elifritz said, a warm sense of pride for his crew filling his chest, though tempered with the knowledge they were far from done. “Any changes to the target’s field strength or course?”
“Negative, sir. Not even a blip.”
“Then proceed with the second attack run. Alter our phase-in vector for a top-down shot. Have Hammerhead-Eight take the opposite approach.”
“Yes, sir. Orders transmitted . . . and confirmed.”
“Accelerating now. Phase-lock imminent.”
Hammerhead-Seven snapped into existence high above Phoenix, and the next missile shot out of the launcher. Hammerhead-Eight appeared far below and fired its own projectile from underneath. The two missiles converged from opposite angles.
“Missile clear!”
“Breaking phase-lock!”
The chronoport shuddered, and alarms lit up his screens. Phoenix vanished from their realspace scopes a moment later.
“Damage report,” Elifritz said.
“Forward armor breached on Deck C, and Laser Two has a number of diagnostic faults. Looks like we took a brief hit from one of their lasers. I’m reorganizing the forward armor plates to close the breach.”
“What about Hammerhead-Eight?”
“They pulled back cleanly, sir. No damage.”
“And Phoenix? Are we having any effect?”
“Nothing obvious, sir. There’ve been no changes to their chronometric profile.”
“No signs of physical damage, either. Sir, I don’t think our first two missiles even reached the target. They may have been shot down.”
“Then we need to give the enemy less time for intercepts,” Elifritz said. “Modify attack run three for a closer approach. One kilometer instead of three.”
“Yes, sir. Adjusting for a one-kilometer approach. New course plotted and ready.”
“Hammerhead-Eight confirms their readiness, sir.”
“Execute.”
The two chronoports surged forward once more and phase-locked with the Institute warship. The vessel loomed ahead and above them this time, a giant metallic moon with the long, thick spike of its impeller protruding from the back. Missiles launched, Phoenix answered, and the chronoport lurched from a savage impact. Alarms flashed as restraints bit into his shoulders, and his head whiplashed against the seat back.
“Mass driver hit to starboard wing! Cannon Two and Laser Two destroyed!”
“Breaking phase-lock!”
Phoenix disappeared from view, replaced by faint flickers of light against the transverse’s dark tapestry. Both chronoports returned to the relative safety of their stern chase positions.
“Did we at least hit them this time?” Elifritz asked, shaking the stars from his vision.
“Looks that way, sir. I’m detecting minute fluctuations in their field strength, though their course and speed remain unaffected.”
How hard do we need to hit this damn thing?! he thought.
“Sir,” the weapons operator said, “I have an additional analysis from our visual contact with the target.”
“Give it to me.”
“I’ve detected prog-steel integrated into the impeller spike itself. I believe it’s been fortified in some manner.”
“Then their drive systems aren’t quite the glass jaw we were hoping for?”
“That’s my best guess, sir.”
“Telegraph that information back to the Kleio and prep for our next run. One kilometer approach.”
“Yes, sir. Telegraph spooled . . . and transmitting.”
“Course plotted. Ready to execute on your command, sir.”
“Exe—”
“Phoenix course change detected! Sir, it’s reversing course!”
“What?!”
Phoenix snapped into existence directly ahead, a menacing, looming orb of armor and weapons. It was close. Dangerously close. Terrifyingly close. Near enough for Elifritz to observe ripples in the armor as the warship’s weapons relocated across its surface.
Those ripples congregated at the point closest to Hammerhead-Seven, and blisters opened wide. But for as close as they were, and as perilous as the situation was, the Institute had made one fatal mistake.
The fat, tempting spike of its impeller was close as well.
And directly within Hammerhead-Seven’s sights.
Elifritz didn’t think in that moment; he didn’t have the luxury of time. But what he did possess were decades of experience and the honed instincts of a commander. An opening had presented itself, and instead of running away, he seized it.
“Launch all remaining nukes!” he commanded in a sharp, clear voice.
“Missiles away!”
“Target those surface weapons! Fire main guns!”
“Firing!”
Hammerhead-Seven’s remaining proton laser and heavy railgun pounded the Phoenix’s surface, and its active armor struggled against the onslaught. The disruption rippled into their weapon mounts, throwing off their aim just enough for the first flurry of lasers and kinetic rounds to miss. Hammerhead-Eight followed their lead, even without direct orders, even though fleeing may have been the right choice, and was certainly the safest. Both chronoports held their ground against the goliath and poured forth their vengeful fire.
Nuclear pyres lit against the impeller spike, so close that hard radiation sleeted against Hammerhead-Seven, but its hull had been designed to withstand close-proximity nuclear detonations, and only a few surface systems burned out.
“Hammerhead-Eight destroyed!”
Elifritz sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flicking to the chronoport’s visual, its hull torn asunder by a direct mass driver hit.
“Last missile away, sir!”
“Get us out of here!” Elifritz barked. “Break pha—”
Phoenix fired, and the front of Hammerhead-Seven’s bridge ignited with sudden, blinding light.
* * *
“That’s a hit,” Benjamin said, though with a subdued edge to his voice. “Phoenix field strength is dropping.”
“Keep the distance open, Ella,” Raibert said. “That thing still has its teeth, even if it has been wounded.”
“Roger that,” Elzbietá replied from the Kleio’s virtual cockpit. “Holding position at twenty chens.”
Raibert glanced over the pulsating sphere of Phoenix’s chronometric signature. Two off-color splashes represented sporadic signals from the chronoports, their field signatures almost totally eclipsed by the huge warship.
“Any idea how bad they’re hurt, Doc?”
“Hard to tell,” Benjamin said, eyes darting left and right across his screens. “But it doesn’t look like a drive kill. Their impeller definitely took a hit; there’s some ugly resonance coming off their field, but it’s rising back up to operational strength, and they appear to be resuming course for the Admin.” He expanded one of his screens and scrolled through it. “Confirmed. They’re back on course, and at thirty-six kilofactors no less.”
“Keep up with them, Ella.”
As Phoenix pulled away, the noise from its powerful field subsided, uncloaking their two allies, and Raibert knew at a glance something wasn’t right. He’d seen enough time machines and fought enough battles to know a functioning impeller from its shattered remnants, and one of those fields looked more like a smear than the compact uniformity of an intact time drive.
“That’s . . . ” Benjamin said quietly. “Hammerhead-Eight. They didn’t make it.”
“Kleio, split off Hyperion and Linus,” Raibert said. “Have them search that debris field for survivors.”
“Yes, Agent. Relaying your orders.”
Benjamin shook his head sadly. Combat across space and time rarely left any bodies, and they all knew it.
But there’s always a chance.
Raibert studied the second signature. “What about Hammerhead-Seven?”
“Hurt bad, by the looks of it,” Benjamin said. “Speed at ten kilofactors and dropping.”
“Kleio, telegraph Elifritz for a status update. Let him know we stand ready to assist.”
“Yes, Agent.”
A minute passed by.
“Any response yet?” Raibert asked.
“No, Agent.”
“Not good. Ella, get us into phase-lock. Their telegraph must be out.”
“Moving in.”
The Kleio swooped toward Hammerhead-Seven with three other TTVs holding formation. They phase-locked with the chronoport, and it materialized far ahead of them, turning lazily end over end.
Raibert zoomed in.
“Their impeller appears to be intact,” Benjamin said. “I wonder why . . . ”
He trailed off as the chronoport flipped over slowly, exposing the true extent of the damage.
The front half of the ship—including the bridge and Captain Jason Elifritz—had been completely obliterated.
* * *
The gravity on Phoenix changed again, and Susan spun in the air and landed on her feet. She raced down the corridor, Noxon and two more STANDs a few paces behind her.
She suspected they were all that remained of the ground team. Their own squad had taken heavy casualties, and they’d failed to reach anyone else. Their grim reality fought for her attention, but she bottled it away and kept her focus on the problem in front of her.
She needed to survive.
They needed to survive.
At least long enough to complete their mission.
After that, well . . .
She knew she’d been right about the “bunker” the moment gravity vanished, shortly after the initial synthoid attack. That could only mean they’d shifted out of phase with Luna, freeing themselves from its gravitational pull.
But then gravity had returned, stronger than before, indicating this “bunker” was accelerating toward somewhere.
She thought she could hazard a pretty good guess.
Earth. And not just any Earth, but my home!
Well, we’ll see about that! We’re not out of this fight yet!
“Which way?” she asked, fast approaching a six-way junction.
“Down!” Noxon said. “Toward the ship’s center! If we’re lucky, we’ll come across a critical system. You still have those demo charges?”
“Yes, sir!”
Susan checked her radar returns, then launched a grenade down the shaft. She leaped down after it, plummeting toward the security shutter far below. The grenade struck, blowing the shutter open, and she pulsed her boosters and slipped through the smoking gap.
She fired another burst and landed on deft feet.
Noxon and the other two dropped down beside her. One of the STANDs fired a trio of grenades up the shaft.
“That Red Knight is still on our tail!”
“Left!” Noxon commanded. “Keep moving!”
Susan hurried down the next passage, which widened into a tall chamber crowded by four towering machines.
“Industrial printers, sir,” Susan reported. “And they’re running.”
“Ignore them,” Noxon said. “They’re not important enough.”
Susan lit her boosters and flew across the chamber. She blasted the door open and landed on the opposite side. Her radar picked up moving returns.
“Contacts, sir. Coming from the right. Maybe three or four synthoids.”
“Push through!” Noxon barked. “We need to stay ahead of that Red Knight!”
Susan checked her ammo levels—she’d spent about half her grenades and rifle ammo, but her incinerator was nearly full.
She deployed her malmetal shield and boosted ahead. The synthoids fired as soon as she rounded the bend, bullets zinging off her shield. She tackled the first, bashing it back with her shield, and laid down a thick curtain of blue flame. The gel in her incinerator carried its own oxidizer; all it needed was a little heat to light up, even in vacuum.
Flames scorched two of the synthoids, cooking their internal systems, and they dropped heavily to the ground in blackened heaps, the fires snuffing out quickly without ambient oxygen to burn.
The third synthoid tried to angle its rifle around Susan’s shield, but she pinned it against the wall, then balled up her fist and punched into its chest cavity. It tried to grab her forearm, but she grabbed hold of its spine and jerked her arm out, ripping it in two.
These Institute synthoids weren’t military patterns. Not like Creed’s Argo Division body. They went down easily, but that didn’t make their weapons any less dangerous.
An alert appeared in her periphery, and she spun around as the Red Knight hovered into view at the far end of the corridor. It was the same one she’d engaged earlier, its torso and left arm scarred by grenade impacts and rail-rifle shots.
She boosted backward into the printer room, and the Red Knight’s shot missed, blowing apart a section of wall.
“Red Knight incoming!” Susan took cover to one side of the exit. “It must have looped around ahead of—”
A bullet struck her from behind, and she staggered forward, turning to face the source.
Drones that vaguely resembled human skulls poured out of the printer hoppers. Dozens of them, all equipped with small arms. The hit to her back hadn’t penetrated her armor, but this new threat enjoyed weight in numbers.
Susan brought her shield around, staying clear of the exit, even as the Red Knight closed on their position. The drones buzzed around, firing from every angle, and another STAND went down, stung to death by the swarms.
All three survivors lit their incinerators and doused the room with blue flame. Drones dropped to the ground, and Susan launched a quartet of grenades toward the printers. Each guided munition slipped inside the open hoppers and detonated within. She wasn’t sure that would be enough to take out the printers, but a few good explosions should at least slow them down.
Drones continued to flit about, though in greatly reduced numbers. Susan raked the room with flame while Noxon hit one cluster with an airburst grenade, taking out most of them. Only a handful flitted about, pulling back from the Admin flamethrowers, but the three STANDs took them out with quick, precise shots.
The Red Knight charged into the room.
Susan and Noxon boosted out of its line of sight, but the third STAND barely had time to raise his shield before the Red Knight fired. The smart munition thunked against his shield, then drilled through and exploded, stripping the STAND of an arm and most of his chest armor. A beam attack burned through his exposed internals, and he dropped.
Run or fight?
Susan checked her surroundings. They’d be dangerously exposed to the Red Knight no matter which way they fled. They could run, but it would probably gun one or both of them down before they could duck around the next corner.
A fight it is, then.
She steeled herself, ignited her boosters, and charged in.
The Red Knight swung an arm around, but she ducked, skidding and boosting underneath the machine. She cleared it, redirected her boosters, and took a powered leap onto its back.
She latched on, one hand gripping the Red Knight’s neck. The mech reached for her. Its shoulders and elbows could bend, and a thick forearm struck her side, trying to dislodge her.
She held firm.
The Red Knight backed itself against the wall, crunching her in between, but her armor held, and she scampered atop its shoulders, firing her rifle into the back of its head. The fifth shot punched through, and the bullet rattled around inside its sensory hub.
Susan stuck her rifle into the hole and angled it downward, unloading shot after shot down through the Red Knight’s neck and into its torso. The mech wobbled drunkenly, then collapsed, its arms splayed to either side.
Susan stepped off the drone and checked her surroundings. If she’d had lungs, she would have been panting.
She swept her gaze over the carnage—the floor covered in broken, scorched drones and pieces of her fallen comrades—then brought her eyes up to Noxon.
“We need to keep moving,” was all he said.
Susan nodded solemnly. They couldn’t spare time for the fallen, and she knew that, understood that, however much it hurt. She collected ammunition from the dead STANDs, then joined Noxon by the exit.